


The Joy That Kills

by the_rainbow_jen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rainbow_jen/pseuds/the_rainbow_jen
Summary: Written for the 2007 Divine the Future round at the dmhgficexchange on LJ, reporting here for archival purposes (no edits to content)Prompt: something with candy, a bit of scary and some wickedness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist notes: Huge, ginormous thanks to my betas, R. and Floo. You ladies made this fic what it is today. Hopefully, that will prove out to be a huge compliment. Title is derived from Kate Chopin’s The Awakening.

It always looked pretty absurd, in muggle films. The victim, usually a buxom blonde, running deeper into danger rather than out of it. Up the stairs instead of out to where other people might be. The logic was appalling. Yet, when chased, instinct takes over, and the desire to escape begins to overwhelm all others. Even to the point of a retreat deeper into the rabbit hole, as it were.  
  
Hermione was crouched behind a desk, frantically trying to calm her breathing. It sounded louder than a trumpet in her ears, and she was certain, sweating, that her pursuer could hear her. The slow soft pad of footsteps prickled her ears, and she froze, barely breathing at all, as the noise got closer to where she was hiding. Try though she might, she couldn’t focus long enough to wandlessly summon her wand.  
  
The noise was coming towards her from the left. Sweat trickled down the side of her face, mingling with the blood of her split lip. She didn’t notice the burn, every fibre in her waiting for the approaching person. She gripped the umbrella she’d tripped over in her flight, ready to fight as best she could. She wouldn’t give up without causing some damage of her own.  
  
“Miss Granger, surely you can see how futile this is. You know that you’ll never get past me, and no one is around to hear you scream. Just come out, and I promise, it will be painless for you.” A chuckle. “I’ll even give you some Gummi Gigglers to ease the way. How’s that sound?”  
  
She bit back a sob. She wasn’t ready to die. Not like this. Not without telling him how she felt. She was too young, dammit. She’d survived hand-to-hand combat with some of the worst the wizarding world had produced. She’d survived torture by Bellatrix Lestrange, and a deadly curse by Antonin Dolohov. Why, of all things, had she let this blindside her?  
  
  
One Week Earlier  
  
The case came across her desk at half-four. Normally, she’d read through it to determine priority, and set it in queue. This one, however, came with a note from Ms. Gibbons, her supervisor. “ _Top Priority. Consider your holiday postponed._ ” Sighing, she wrote a quick owl to Ron and Harry saying that as much as she was actually looking forward to their trip, she absolutely could not shirk her new assignment. Whatever it was, it had better be good to warrant the kind of overbearing commands that Ms. Gibbons had stopped using in the past few months. She opened the file and began to read.  
  
It was five o’clock - and she was running to the Auror Division of the MLE, hoping to catch Harry. Now that she’d read through the case file, she couldn’t wait til the next day to see him. He had to know what the case concerned – being the Boy Who Lived to Hear All Sorts of Gossip was one aspect he both loved and hated about his current job. And if he didn’t fuss her for having to cancel their holiday, he might be willing to give her some information in advance. She ran into Harry coming around a corner, her note in his hand. He looked resigned, and as she caught her breath, he sighed.  
  
“You got the Giggler case, didn’t you?” At her nod, he shook his head. “Figures.” He produced a file from his briefcase. “I figured you’d want this, to supplement your files. And yes, I already submitted the form in triplicate, so your client won’t be able to claim breach of procedure.”   
  
Taking the file from Harry, she worried her lip. “I’m really sorry, Harry. I did want to go, but this is my chance for a promotion to get out from under Gibbons’ nose. I don’t know why I got the case, because there are others more senior than me, but I can’t turn it down.”  
  
“I know. Just wish it didn’t mean you having to spend time with the ferret.” He gave her a sharp look. “Be careful. Just because he’s been toeing the line doesn’t mean he’s entirely safe.”   
  
“Harry, I’m well aware that the people I defend are not to be trusted,” she replied. “And if I was to break my rule on that, it would hardly be with Draco Malfoy.”  
  
Having gotten the case so late in the day, she had little choice but to beard the snake in his den, metaphorically speaking. She’d read the files, hers and Harry’s, taking notes of questions to ask, and finally, reluctantly, made the trip to Draco Malfoy’s flat. Despite what she’d said to Harry, she had a pretty good idea why she’d gotten the case. Ms. Gibbons had made no bones about her utter dislike of Minister Shacklebolt’s poster child for the new Magical Law Enforcement program,  _Progressive Rehabilitation_. Considering she thought Hermione far too idealistic for her current line of work, it would be like her to try and set Hermione up to fail. Well, she had no intention of letting that happen.  
  
She knocked firmly on the door. Knowing what she did about Malfoy, both from the newspapers and from the extensive file in her briefcase, being greeted by the man of the house himself came as quite a surprise, being greeted by the man of the house himself. He must have been telling the truth when he made public that the Malfoy estate had been wholly poured into buying Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlor, and adding the line of exciting and innovative sweets not too unlike the Weasley’s, if less mischievous in nature. Of course, the utter irony of the son of a Death Eater becoming a dedicated candyman was not lost on her. Even knowing all that, she still expected a house elf, or maybe one of the PlayWizard models he supposedly was running around with to answer the door. Of course, the biggest shock was seeing the rather irritated blonde in…   
  
“Are those muggle pajamas?” she blurted, unable to stop herself in her surprise.   
  
He scowled, looking down at himself before looking back at her. “Hello to you too, Granger. What, is the former Death Eater not allowed to espouse anything muggle?” he asked sarcastically.   
  
She flushed and opened her mouth to apologize, but thought better of it. Never show them weakness. She’d learned that her first year at Hogwarts and it still held true.  
  
“I came by about—” she began, but was interrupted when he waved a hand in her face.  
  
“I know. Your name was on the official papers my lawyer brought by. I was told to cooperate fully, though I suppose it's beyond the Ministry to realize that making house calls at this hour is  **not** acceptable.” He turned and left her at the door.   
  
She stepped tentatively into his apartment. Malfoy’s temper hadn't changed much, she noted. Despite having gone into the candy and ice cream business, he was as bitter as ever. “I’m aware that it is late.” She opened her satchel and pulled out a file, quill and pad of paper. “But your trial will begin on Monday, and there’s three charges of murder against you. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not in Azkaban. However did you get out on parole?”   
  
He led the way into his living room, more sparsely furnished than she’d have predicted, where he sat in a wing-backed chair, leaving her the loveseat. He propped an ankle up on one knee, displaying the solid metal around his ankle. “Tracking bracelet. They can find me no matter where I am, and the only person who can remove it is the one who put it on in the first place. Shows Shacklebolt has some sense. Azkaban is for convicts only, so I have until next week to enjoy my monitored freedom.” He lowered his foot to the ground and sat, slouched in his seat, disgruntled, and watched her scratch out a few notes. “What was so urgent that we had to speak this late in the evening?”  
  
“Oh.” She gave a slight start; she’d gotten lost in her thoughts trying to organize the facts of the case against him.. “Well, I only just got the case …” She checked her watch. “Five hours ago, and I wanted to verify some facts before I continued to investigate. So, just to be sure I’ve got this correct, you’ve been charged with the murders of Samantha Moon, Rose Zeller, and Justin Finch-Fletchley.” She was proud of how her voice didn’t waver. "It was discovered that they had ingested some of your new product, Gummi Gigglers, which produce a temporary state of euphoria—hence the giggling. Normally non-toxic, in these cases, the euphoria was prolonged, sending the victims into a series of muscle spasms, before a secondary drug caused them to pass out, turn asthmatic and asphyxiate in their unconscious state."  
  
"They can't prove I did that," Draco grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring across the room at her, as though she'd accused him herself. "The Gummi Gigglers I manufacture get their kick from a temporary Cheering Charm bound to the gelatin in the boiling process, which is then absorbed through the tiny blood vessels in the mouth. The stomach acids disintegrate the gelatin enough that the charm is rendered inert. Whatever killed them, I didn't make."  
  
"But they were seen exiting Fortescue's Parlor. Your place of business," she pointed out. “You expect me to believe you weren’t involved, especially when spells revealed the last thing they ate was made of gelatin, the key ingredient to your Gigglers?”  
  
“Isn’t that your job, to believe and defend your clients?” Draco countered, a stubborn look on his face. He’d sat up at this, and was gripping the armrests rather tightly.   
  
She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you the idealist. My job is to give my clients, appointed by the MLE, the best defense I am capable of, regardless of their crimes. I don’t particularly like that part of things, but I do believe in being fair and letting the system decide your fate, not me.”  
  
“The system apparently already has decided my fate, if I get a barrister who couldn’t care less about my innocence,” he drawled, reaching up to rub his forehead.   
  
A telling move, she thought. Despite his veneer of indifference, he was worried. She studied him a moment more, then said. “All right, I’ll believe you for now. It would go against what you’ve been working towards the past five years to kill a few muggleborns.” Especially when he’d not given them up at Malfoy Manor before the final battle.  
  
“Thanks so much Granger. My mind is set at ease. You’ve  _such_  a high opinion of me; I’m surprised you think me capable of that kind of planning. Hundreds of people come through the shop on a daily basis. I’m good, but not so good as to know that kind of detail on all of them. Though I must admit,  _you_ surprised me. Never had you figured for dark chocolate flavored sugar quills.” He raised a brow at her as she flushed, patently skeptical of her powers of deduction. “I make it my business to know why people come back, but that’s it. Can’t make a profit if they think I’m eyeing them up for extermination.”  
  
He moved back to the topic at hand. “Gummi Gigglers are incredibly popular, especially with the Ministry types. Loads of them stop by after work almost daily, just to get two or three. If I wanted to start charging a Galleon a piece, instead of 5 for a sickle, I’ve no doubt I could get away with it.”  
  
“Just like you’re allegedly getting away with murder?” she countered. At the eye roll this produced, she went on to insist, "I’ll accept you weren’t responsible, but you have to admit, the evidence is piling up against you. The victims were all seen shopping at your business, and their initial symptoms are the same sort of symptoms that your product is known for. Your alibi for Monday and Tuesday at 4 pm is that you were ‘corresponding’, which no one can confirm, and you and I both know that while circumstantial, they don’t need much in the way of evidence to convict you. Your personal history will do that for them."  
  
“My lack of alibi should mean I targeted those individuals. And anyone could have come up with a modification to my product. Its form isn’t special, the spell is," he snapped, his demeanor finally revealing his perturbation with the entire situation. At his intense look, she wanted to squirm in her seat. "How exactly did I succeed in targeting those three if I wasn't the one dishing them the candy? I have a part-time girl, Rachel, who is exceedingly competent, and was even sorted into your self-righteous house of Gryffindor. She was covering the counter at the times in question."   
  
"And when she was interviewed, she didn't remember her work shift during the afternoons of Monday and Tuesday, and showed signs of being Obliviated," Hermione interjected. "Listen, Malfoy, I'm going to defend you no matter what, but I need you to be honest with me. Did you have anything to do with the murders?"  
  
"No." His voice was unequivocal. "I did not."  
  
"Alright." Deciding to shelve her qualms, she flipped to a different page on her notepad. "I need you to tell me everything about the making of the Gummi Gigglers: who was involved, from idea to actual production, who you bought ingredients from, the whole deal. I need everything you remember about the days the murders occurred, and anything you know about the victims. I’ll also need a list of potential enemies who could be setting you up."   
  
  
  


****

  
  
It was late, and Hermione’s adrenaline rush that she always got with a new case was starting to flag. Draco, on the other hand, had gotten a second wind after he’d started detailing the process of making Gummi Gigglers. It led to tangents about tangerine ice cream, lickable tattoos (house crests, Quidditch teams, and ironically enough, Dark Marks), lollys with fizzing sherbet in the middle, gum that formed animal shapes when you blew it into balloons (“You have no idea how hard that one was,” he informed her), until finally she interrupted.  
  
"What is the point of telling me all this?"  
  
He stopped his pacing, which was borne more out of his enthusiasm for the captive audience than out of stress over his pending indictment. He was startled by her question, then thoughtful. "Someone could be setting me up because of my success. Except for that Weasel twin, no one else comes close in innovation in wizarding candies."  
  
Politely refraining from telling him the lollys with fizzing sherbet (though not sherbet that changes your face color) were already available in the Muggle world, Hermione replied, "But to what end? It’s not as though your company is publicly owned, or that you would leave it to someone else in the event of your incarceration."  
  
"But if I'm out of the way, or imprisoned, it would force my silent partner to return from Fra—” He stopped, looked surprised, as if not intending to admit that. She sucked in a breath, realization widening her eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said slowly, "Which, if you make public knowledge, might ruin me anyway."   
  
Draco, by virtue of the fact that he'd never killed anyone, was not as heavily punished as his parents. Lucius was in Azkaban, and rather than face her own justice, Narcissa had fled, presumably to France, where the Black family had distant relations that would have taken her in. She was still wanted, as were a smattering of lower level Death Eaters. Part of the reason Draco had been successful, Hermione thought, was that he had divorced himself completely from his past life, taking on a trade, wearing clothes that wouldn't stand out in a crowd … blending in, as it were. At least so far as the public eye could tell. It was extremely unlikely that he would sever ties to his mother. Hermione looked at him, dawning realization on her face. That was who he’d been ‘corresponding’ with. Hence the flimsy alibi. He was protecting Narcissa.  
  
"You didn't think this pertinent to tell me before, instead of regaling me with stories of your own brilliance in the  _candy trade_?" What had started out as a calm question rapidly escalated into a shout, as Hermione's temper and her tiredness caught up to her simultaneously. "I've been working since 7 am this morning! I missed lunch and had to cancel my dinner plans for this case, not to mention a long awaited holiday weekend! And now, after listening to you rave about your products, which are terrible for your teeth, by the way, I learn of a very good reason someone might be setting you up!  ** _To catch your mother_**!"  
  
"When you put it like that, it was an altogether productive evening," Draco said blandly, watching her as though she was a cobra about to strike. His lips twitched, as though he wanted to laugh at her, but he managed to refrain, likely realizing it would only get him hexed.  
  
Hermione didn't know whether to scream, laugh or hex him, so she settled for gathering her copious pages of notes, briefcase, and coat. "Be in my office at 8 a.m. sharp. If I have to come looking for you, I  **won’t**  be pleased." She slammed the door behind her, feeling childish, but oddly triumphant at getting the last word.   
  
Then the door opened and she heard, "Shall I bring you some of our newly caffeinated Stringmint Floss for breakfast?" Then the door slammed shut, blocking the hex she shot back at him from entering the flat. She backed up, and knelt down, pointed her wand under the edge of the door, and muttered a hex; the cursing she heard on the other side made it clear she'd gotten back her advantage.  
  


****

  
  
Fortunately for both of them, Draco didn’t push his luck, and arrived on time, neatly dressed in somber robes, carrying two cups of coffee. Hermione eyed the cup intended for her until he said, impatiently, "It doesn't behoove me to poison the help, you know." At which she begrudgingly took the mug, sipping the bitter brew with no small amount of relief. She'd been up until 1 am and had overslept, rushing through her morning routine and skipping her usual breakfast and coffee. When he produced a small sack of bagels, she asked, "Alright, what is this? You weren't this nice to Pansy in fifth year, and you actually  _liked_  her."  
  
Draco flushed briefly, and shrugged, sitting across from her. "I think better on a full stomach, is all." It wasn't a satisfactory answer, really, but Hermione was willing to let it go as Draco simply trying to impress upon her his good qualities, until he said, lowly, "Don't tell them about my mother."   
  
The quiet words stopped her cold, and she accidentally dribbled coffee down her front. Scowling at the stain in her favorite blue blouse, she reached for her wand, but he was quicker, siphoning off the black brew in a cleaning spell that, she had to admit, was loads better than hers. He caught her eyes again. "Please."  
  
If she hadn't already spilled her coffee, she would have, at that. Earnest, scared, and not a little bit hopeful. Qualities she would never have thought of him. She found herself saying, "Alright, as long as it holds no bearing on the case. If the prosecutors bring it up, I might not have any choice, but until this is settled, I will keep it confidential. Then I reserve the right to re-evaluate." It wasn’t a requirement that she invoke attorney-client privilege, but growing up with Muggle parents had impressed on her the importance of fostering Muggle ideas into the wizarding world, especially ones that worked. She honestly didn't care if Narcissa was ever found. Truthfully, since Harry had told her that it was Mrs. Malfoy's lie that had helped set the stage for his shocking return from the dead, she rather admired the woman. She'd married an extremely bigoted man, true, but she seemed to dote on Draco, what with all the care packages from her he had gloated about at Hogwarts, and her mad dash through Hogwarts the night of the final battle looking for him.   
  
Shaking her head, Hermione returned to the matter at hand. "So, if your defense, as you're suggesting, is to prove you're being set up, for whatever reason, then we must produce some credible threats to your livelihood and person and the people who would gain from your imprisonment." She had made a short list the previous night before going to bed, and she was reading the names off aloud when he snatched the page from her hands,  
  
"Hey!" Her indignant cry didn't deter him, and he scanned the paper before crumbling it into a ball and throwing it towards her garbage can.  
  
"Nope. I consider none of them a threat. They'd have to have formed a coalition, sharking resources and such, to accomplish this, and the people on that list are not that smart, wealthy, or amenable to each other. Think higher, Granger. I thought about it last night, after you left. I'm the Ministry's poster boy for rehabilitation. Convicting me of murder is as good as forcing Shacklebolt's campaign for progress in the MLE back to the old way of doing things." He leaned back in the chair across from her, regarding her steadily, if somewhat less openly than he had when pleading for his mother's secrecy.  
  
Hermione considered his words, and then said, reluctantly, "It’s possible that someone internally is trying to sabotage the Minister, though improbable. Ministry approval ratings are higher than they’ve been in the last thirty years, and Kingsley cleaned house pretty thoroughly when he was officially elected. What you’re talking about is more of a loose cannon, someone who is using his or her position to finesse the Minister’s current campaign for their own benefit. The Ministry stands to gain more from resolving this quickly, before anyone else gets hurt or before the public begins to panic at the thought of another uprising. Frankly, if it was anyone else, this would likely be more publicized in the hopes of driving out the perpetrators, but you’ve got a spotty record. It’s easier to blame you, admit that your rehabilitation was a lie, and begin revising their programs, than to let people get wind that someone is hunting muggleborns. They’d believe you were responsible anyway, if this became public knowledge." The fact that it hadn't been publicized had surprised Hermione, but she figured the lies and propaganda of past administrations were making Shacklebolt cautious, forcing the Ministry to find the culprit before they even let the media know. Peace was still fragile, after a year's worth of distrust and corrupt practices.  
  
"If I wanted further proof of that, I'd look no further than you." At her blank look, he elaborated. "You're of junior rank in this department, Granger. If they wanted the publicity, they'd have gotten a senior. And you’re muggleborn, with a good working knowledge of my history, as you say. If you can’t find a way to acquit me, then it’s as good as telling the Wizengamot to have me Kissed.”   
  
"Oh really?" Hermione said through gritted teeth, piqued that he’d verbalized her own misgivings with the assignment. "Maybe they gave me this case as a sign of my abilities that I'd find the truth fast enough and they'd have it over quickly. Maybe they think our history would keep me from losing sight of who you are. You may have taken the Mark, but you didn’t willfully hurt anyone, so far as I remember it. You might be thinking of this backwards. Maybe giving me this case is an excuse for the promotion I’m long overdue for." Blast, she hadn’t meant to admit that. He didn’t need to know her frustrations with the departmental hierarchy, or her doubts about why she got the case. If it was because she could be relied on for fair treatment regardless of his background, then she was pleased to have such recognition. If it was because they wanted her to fail to prove his innocence – well, either way, the good mood of the morning was spoiled by such speculation.  
  
She pushed a piece of parchment at him and gestured towards her quill stand. "Fine. Since you know so much, you tell me who would be out to get you." She folded her arms and glared at him, irritated at him for under appreciating her skill, and at herself for letting him get to her.  
  
"Alright." He pulled out her favorite quill, dipped it in the inkpot, and began to write.  
  
  


****

  
  
  
"For the last time, Malfoy, Julius Fudge is not out to get you! He is nothing like his father, and rather hates being compared to him." Exasperated, Hermione pushed her chair back and began filing the various stacks of books she'd pulled out to prepare for her meeting with Malfoy back in their respective location on the sagging bookshelves behind her. She made a mental note to cast a support spell again, as it seemed to have worn off. It seemed an eternity ago.   
  
"How do you know? Right chummy with him, are you?" Draco's earlier humility and equanimity had vanished, leaving the snide and arrogant git she'd known in school. "What's the matter, Potter or Weasley refuse to have you?"   
  
She froze in the act of putting  _Business, Magic and the Law: Which is more Bendy?_  back on the shelf, and turned, instead throwing it at his head. He ducked, and she continued throwing books at him, her temper flaring. Good thing she'd thought to place protection charms on all the valuables in her office. In her first case, she had defended a man who claimed his 'run by fruitings' were the result of a jinxed muscle spasm in his arm. He'd demonstrated, and her black eye had won the case. So now she threw her books with impunity, until, someone knocked and then, without waiting for a response, opened the door. Ms. Gibbons had to duck to avoid being hit by a book that sailed into the hallway.  
  
"Miss Granger!" She froze, book in hand as the no-nonsense voice of Hermione’s boss boomed. She lowered her arm and cast about for an explanation as and Ms. Gibbons entered the room with eyes narrowed behind thick glasses and lips pursed so tightly, she could have been squeezing coal into a diamond. Hermione cringed at the sight, immediately cooling off as Ms. Gibbons entered and surveyed the mess. "What on earth is the meaning of this?"  
  
"I'm sorry, we were just …” Hermione started to explain, only for Draco to snort at her. Obviously amused at her having been caught with her proverbial pants down while her knickers were in a twist, he looked as though he'd just eaten one of his Gigglers and was trying hard not to lose his composure. She glared at him, and said, distinctly, "We were having a disagreement, and I lost my temper."  
  
Ms Gibbons sniffed and said, "Be that as it may, you have more pressing concerns." Hermione looked out the door past Ms. Gibbons from her spot behind the desk and saw two Aurors were coming down the hallway towards them, expressions serious. Her stomach sank to the vicinity of her knees; even Draco looked much less amused. Paler than normal, he stood from his hiding spot behind a chair, where he’d crouched to avoid her book missiles, and smoothed out his robes, schooling his face into one of studied indifference. If she hadn't just spent nearly twelve hours in his company in the past 24 hours, watching him gesticulate, make faces, and become acquainted with the nuances of his moods, mercurial as they were, she'd have missed the flash of fear.   
  
Ms. Gibbons continued, "There have been two more attacks in the past hour. A Ms. Rita Skeeter and Mr. Harry Potter. They Apparated in to St. Mungo’s and collapsed, and are currently being held in an unconscious state while they try to find an antidote to your poison." The look she shot Draco was rather venomous, and both Hermione and Draco took an involuntary step back.  
  
Hermione nearly panicked at the idea that Harry was near death, but Gibbons words about their state forced her to think objectively, and professionally. She turned to look at Draco, hoping he might have some sort of explanation and she saw the shock in his eyes as he registered the news. He moved towards her, and said, urgently, "There's no way I could have done it, Hermione. I've been with you all morning. How could I have done such a thing?" Startled by his first use of her first name, Hermione just stared at him. She didn’t think he’d done it, but the possibility of an accomplice was starting to intrude upon her thoughts.  
  
The Aurors were in the doorway, and as Ms. Gibbons stepped aside, they informed Draco that, due to the additional attacks (and Hermione suspected because of who had been attacked, namely Harry), they’d been authorized to take him into custody until such a time as he would be tried. Hermione could only watch dumbly as they ushered a struggling Draco down the hall, she presumed to the holding cells where they kept the accused before they went before the Wizengamot. Something besides the attacks had to have happened to cause them to revoke his monitored freedom.  
  
"Miss Granger, you must pull yourself together." Ms. Gibbons voice snapped Hermione out of her stupor. She looked at her superior who had a less grim look on her face, if not a terribly compassionate one. "Don't forget what you're here to do. Find truth and justice. Go." Hermione started at the command, and just stared at her blankly. "It would seem Mr. Potter has quick wits, and used his knowledge of the case to save them, as he managed to Apparate himself and Ms. Skeeter to St. Mungo's before they fell unconscious."   
  
Hermione's heart, which clenched on hearing Harry's name, began to beat a bit easier in her chest. Reeling around, she grabbed her bag, shoving notes in willy-nilly. She dashed out past Ms. Gibbons, who called, "He's on the third floor, the Snape Ward."  
  


****

  
  
Hermione had been led quick as you please to the waiting area outside Harry’s room. Seemed a nurse, had thought to contact Ron, who Harry had always put down as his next of kin, however jokingly he meant it. Mrs. Weasley sat with her youngest son, and as Hermione met his gaze, concerned and confused, he stood, catching her as she threw herself at him, needing comfort.   
  
How had this happened? She and Draco had discussed the victims, and tried to figure out what connection he had to each of them. He only vaguely knew who Justin Finch-Fletchley was, and he’d no idea who Rose and Samantha were at all. She showed him a picture, and he thought they might have been regular customers, but as he tried to avoid talking to customers, merely running the register from time to time, he couldn’t be sure. When they’d tried to predict who might be a potential target, Harry was nowhere on the list. So how had he been poisoned?  
  
She knew Harry - he would have gone down to survey the place, and see if anything suspicious was going on. If he got to harass Malfoy in the process, so much the better. But Draco had been with her for the last—she checked her watch—five hours. As though reminded of its neglect, her stomach rumbled, and her legs wobbled a little and Ron quickly ushered her into a seat. With a word, Mrs. Weasley trundled off to find food for her, considering her a second daughter. Hermione leaned against Ron gratefully when he sat next to her. Searching her pockets for a tissue, she accepted the one that was thrust at her, and she smiled over at Ron.  
  
"Thank you." Blowing her nose, she said more clearly, "Really. If I had to wait with your mother fretting, and trying to get me to explain..." She trailed off.   
  
Despite their childhood infatuation with each other, the two had not been able to make a relationship work in peacetime. They'd tried, much to the delight of Molly and Ginny, and when she and Ron had sat down one night about four years ago, they had looked at each other and said in tandem, "This isn't working." Their simultaneous confession had broken the tension and they had laughed, hugging each other. Hermione had kissed him, though it wasn't the kiss of passion they had shared in the heat of battle, when she'd lost all reason in her delight that Ron finally understood one of the things that made her tick. He still did, he just...didn't tick the same.   
  
So they'd ended it amicably, and he had turned his eye to Luna, who once confided in Hermione that, 'when he bellowed your name in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor, it was positively the most romantic thing I ever heard or saw.' Hermione had forced a smile and given the dreamy-eyed blonde her blessing. Their engagement had taken no one by surprise, and after Ron made his way through the Auror training (later than Harry, as he'd taken time to help George re-open Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes), they'd be married in a grove of sycamore, which Luna assured everyone would keep their love fresh and bright and free of dinglehoppers. In the meantime, they bemused all who knew them at how Luna had learned to handle Ron’s temper, and how Ron had begun to accept some of Luna’s crazy ideas.  
  
"Hermione, I have to show you something." Ron took her by the hand, and led her to a private room, where Harry was lying on the bed, looking for all purposes like he was asleep. She bit back a sob, tears forming. And when Ron and she entered and the door latched behind her, she was startled when Ron cast  _Muffliato_. Turning to look at him, she missed seeing Harry open his eyes. She nearly shrieked when Harry said a bit impatiently, “Well, come on over. I can’t have people looking in thinking I’m not in a coma.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Heart pounding in her chest, Hermione rushed to Harry, sitting on the edge of the bed. She began to fire off questions. “What? How did you survive? What happened? Why were you there? What does Rita Skeeter have to do with it? What are you playing at?”   
  
She would have gone on, but Ron quickly cast a silencing spell on her. Shrugging when she sent a fulminating look at him, he said, “Give him a chance to explain, Hermione.”  
  
Harry remained prone on the bed, closing his eyes halfway so he appeared to be speaking, and began his tale, talking so his mouth didn’t move noticeably.  
  
“I was there to keep watch on the assistant, Rachel. The fact that she didn’t seem at all perturbed by being Obliviated had me concerned, and I wanted to be sure she was telling us the truth. Rita saw me hovering, and decided to press for another interview, something about the ‘Boy Who Lived to Be a Married Man’ or some bollocks. She had a bag of sweets, and was nibbling on one of those Gummi Gigglers. I asked her, real coy like, why she was ruining her figure with sweets, and she said she’d gotten a gift owl in the post, something about a complimentary goodie bag. It set off warning bells, because I can’t imagine Draco just giving away his products. Anyway, I walked with her a bit, and when she started giggling uncontrollably, I grabbed her and brought us here. I don’t know why I decided to fake it, except that she’d handed me a sweet before she started having trouble breathing, and I thought if the person responsible thought they’d gotten one of the investigators, they might get cocky, and sloppy.”  
  
Knowing Harry, Hermione wasn’t surprised that he followed his gut instinct in the matter. She glanced at Ron apprehensively, knowing he’d likely be upset that she was defending Malfoy. She was further surprised when Ron shrugged, saying, “If anyone can figure out if the ferret is innocent, it’s you, Hermione. Don’t worry; Harry’s got permission for me to know all this. I was there when he got the case.”  
  
Feeling a tug at her sleeve, she looked down to see Harry open his hand and showed her a rather squished bit of sweet. “Here. We’ve not been able to get a contaminated specimen, so this might help us find the antidote. I managed to tell Ron when the nurses were out of the room, and he’s going to see if Penny Clearwater’s apothecary can test it.”   
  
Ron nodded across the room, coming over to take the sample, pretending to give Harry’s hand a squeeze as he patted Hermione on the shoulder, keeping up the facade. Harry continued, “I just wanted you to know we had it, before you go to talk to Malfoy about the case again.”  
  
“Harry,” Hermione said, after Ron removed the silencing spell. “I was with Draco this morning when it happened. He couldn’t have done it. I don’t know why the Aurors locked him up, but he had an ironclad alibi – me.”  
  
Harry closed his eyes all the way, thinking. “Something must be up. The only reason the Aurors would have to revoke his release is if they had proof that he violated his house arrest, or if the tracking bracelet proved he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”  
  
How that was possible, Hermione didn’t know. He could have done something before coming to see her, but considering how scared and surprised he’d been at being taken to the holding cell, she doubted it. As much as they had been arguing over motive and means and suspects, he’d never once given her reason to doubt he was honest in expressing his innocence.  
  
“Right,” she said firmly, and stood. “I need to go see him. Ron, you’ll owl me if you get some sort of result?” Ron nodded, and she leaned over, kissing Harry on the forehead, saying quietly, “I’m glad you’re alright Harry, but please, next time warn me when you’re going to put yourself in danger like that?”   
  
As she exited the room, she ran into a Healer, who was willing to answer a few questions about their condition when she revealed that she was with the MLE (though she didn’t specify what department). "We can't figure out what's causing the spasms, which is causing them to choke. Supposedly the charm on the sweet is spell based, but there is naught a spell remaining. Right now, all we can do is keep them sedated with a potion that will keep their muscles relaxed, so they don’t stop breathing. Ms. Skeeter doesn’t seem to be able to remain conscious without laughing. We can’t seem to revive Mr. Potter."   
  
Turning away, Hermione made her way out of the hospital, and back to her office at the Ministry. Draco would need her help more than ever now. She couldn’t bring herself to go visit him in the holding cell just yet, but she went through her notes and revised everything for conciseness, for easier reference. She was absorbed in her work when an owl came into her office, holding a parchment rolled and sealed with what she thought was the Malfoy family crest. She broke the seal, and read the message:  
  
_Hermione,_  
  
_The trial's been moved to Saturday morning, not Monday. They're calling an emergency session, since Potter and Skeeter’s attack is causing some considerable alarm among the Wizengamot. Please. I need your help. No one believes me. I know you'll give me a fair shake, or at least hear me out before you start hexing my bits off. I'm honestly sorry about Potter. I didn't like him, but I would never try to kill him (at least, not anymore). You're my only hope left._  
  
_~Draco_  


 

****

  
  
Hermione made her way to the small room where Draco was sitting on a cot, a low stool and a small head in the corner. She’d gotten an update from the Aurors, and as Draco’s representation it was up to her to give him the bad news. The room stank of fear and sick, and Hermione wrinkled her nose, casting a refreshing charm before she handed her wand to the guard. Draco had been lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, but he started at the sound of the door, and sat up, hope suffusing his face. She held up a hand to forestall him, knowing he'd have questions or protestations, and she couldn't listen, just yet. She moved closer to him and whispered, "Harry's not dead."   
  
At the look of relief on his face, her suspicions were confirmed - someone wanted to torture him with the knowledge that the ‘Boy Who Lived to Save Malfoy's Arse Several Times Over’ had died because of him. "He knew of the case and was staking the place out when he realized what was happening and got himself and Rita to St. Mungo's in time. They're being dosed to remain asleep, as they can't stop laughing when they're awake." She didn’t dare trust him with the knowledge that Harry was faking, on the off-chance that he’d managed to fool her. She looked helplessly at Draco. "I don't want to believe you did it, Draco, but evidence is mounting against you."  
  
"But - my tracking bracelet. Can't they use a spell to see if I was at the store? I didn't stop by this morning, just came straight to you. And how could I possibly know it would get Potter? It could as easily have been a child, or a grandparent." Hermione ignored his words, and concentrated on the pleading quality behind them. Draco Malfoy didn't beg. Yet the idea of being imprisoned for murder had him scared. She was worried now, because if she was right, it meant someone was framing him, and very well, too.  
  
"They did run a test on your tracking bracelet," she told him quietly, sitting on the stool with her arms wrapped around her middle, as if to keep the chill out. "It showed you being present in your shop this morning, at around eleven." She couldn't meet his eyes, and just hunched over further.  
  
"But…" he spluttered. "I was with you! How is that possible? Wait..." He peered down at his ankle and gave a yelp. "This isn't the same bracelet! Look." He propped his ankle up on his opposite knee, turning it till the seam was facing Hermione. "I tested the magical limits right after they put this on me, and it left a mark, a gouge in the metal. It’s not here."  
  
"Did anyone see you gouge the bracelet? Or the gouge itself?" she asked sharply, leaning over to take a look at the flawless bracelet. If he was telling the truth, it meant that someone had switched the ankle device without Draco’s knowledge, and the perpetrator was deep in the Ministry, and especially in the MLE, to be able to pull of such a switch. He’d been set upon at home or work and his memory potentially tampered with. She’d have to get him to St. Mungo’s to be checked, as well as request everyone’s wands in the MLE be checked. Which would be hard, well near-impossible.  
  
He thought for a moment and then his shoulders slumped. "No one saw, but they heard me react to the spell backfiring. The guards laughed and told me it was no better than I deserved." He clamped his mouth shut then, and she figured there was more, but let him have his pride.  
  
They sat there for a time, lost in their thoughts as they tried to put a face on the person responsible for killing three and attempting to kill two. Hermione didn't think Draco had done it, if only because it seemed implausible for him to have Obliviated his employee, or for him to have planned something  _that_ elaborate to get to Harry and Rita. It would require a partner, and since the Final Battle at Hogwarts, Draco was a certifiable lone wolf - he'd rarely been seen with any of his former classmates, and she knew from Lavender, who talked to Ron and Luna regularly, that he didn’t see Gregory overmuch, as close as they’d been. All in the name of restoring and saving the Malfoy name.   
  
When the guard returned to let her out, Hermione stood. "I might have a lead before the end of the day. I'll let you know. In the meantime, I think it best I go talk to this Rachel myself."  
  
"Hermione, are you crazy? You'll be lucky if you don't get poisoned, or someone tries to hex you!" Draco hissed as he reached for her, only to be brought up short by the guard brandishing his wand at him. "Please, don't do this." His eyes were wide with fear; for her, she realized. It should have been more comforting, to know he cared, except she was the only thing standing between him and Azkaban at the moment.  
  
"Don't worry, Draco. At the least, it would go a ways towards proving you innocent, if I can get her vetted as a more reliable witness, or even if I can find out how the candy was passed to Rita Skeeter. Besides, you can't exactly get out of your cell." She lowered her voice. "There's a good chance your conspiracy theory is right, and I have to find the proof, before someone tries to kill again."  


 

****

  
  
Hermione made her way out of the Ministry, trying to pull her thoughts together. If someone was framing Draco for murder, what was their motive? They'd already established why he wouldn't have done it (he had no idea who Samantha Moon or Rose Zeller even were), but they needed to build a case in favor of their as yet unknown opponent. So far, it seemed likely that he was being set up to cast a shadow on the rehabilitation program Kingsley had built during his time as interim Minister. He'd been formally elected since then, but if his methods were shown to fail, the power of the Ministry could shift back to someone less interested in truth and justice, and more interested in retribution.   
  
Draco's status as the traitor who set up Dumbledore was well known, and he'd hidden his identity as the store owner for over a year, drawing people back with his newly invented candies and treats before he revealed himself. Surprisingly, his business hadn't dropped off much after he revealed his identity, though he occasionally had vandals to contend with. He rarely had them charged, though, showing them a measure of the grace he'd been given. If it wasn't for his obnoxious behavior towards her and Ron and Harry when he saw them, Hermione would have thought him a different person. The persona and the person were very distinct. She was starting to feel like she was seeing him for who he really was.  
  
She realized she'd made her way to Fortescue's without noticing any of her surroundings. She mentally berated herself, remembering Moody’s admonitions, before going inside, where she found a young girl at the counter, who she assumed to be the person she was looking for. Questioning Draco's assessment of her competence at the rather blank look on her face, Hermione asked, "Rachel?" At the girl's nod, she continued, "I'm Hermione Granger, Mr. Malfoy's representation. Can I ask you a few questions?"   
  
The girl continued to look at her blankly, and Hermione suddenly had the sinking feeling something was wrong. She pulled her wand, and when the girl didn't move, she quickly cast a diagnostic spell to reveal Dark Magic. The girl glowed yellow, a sure sign she was under  _Imperius_.   
  
Hermione felt her heart break a little. The poor girl had likely been made a party to the poisonings, though not of her own volition. Whoever was responsible now had an Unforgiveable to add to their list of crimes, and a one way ticket to Azkaban. She was determined to make sure Draco didn’t take the fall, moreso than ever before. She tried casting Finite on the girl, an act of desperation on her part, since she couldn’t recall a way for someone outside the spell to break the  _Imperius_. Surprisingly, it worked. Rachel’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she stumbled back against the cold chest, blinking woozily at Hermione.  
  
"Oh! I must have nodded off. I'm sorry, what can I get you?" She struggled to regain her balance, and tried to smile professionally at Hermione, though she looked more confused and scared, no doubt because of previous Oblivations.  
  
Hermione bit her lip, and then said gently, "I’m Draco’s representation, Rachel. I came to talk to you about the case and see what you could tell me about being Obliviated. When I came in, you were pretty unresponsive, and when I scanned you, you'd been put under the Imperius Curse, Rachel. I think you should come with me to St. Mungo's, so we can get you checked out." That explained how Harry and Rita had been poisoned. Someone had cursed the poor girl, using her without giving her a choice in the matter.  
  
"Oh, but I can't leave. My shift doesn't end until five." She looked at the clock behind her. "I have another hour." She leaned forward. "You’re Mr. Malfoy’s barrister? So you’re trying to keep him out of prison. Please, you have to win this case. I know it doesn’t look good, but I honestly don't think he'd do this to me, or to anyone, really. He gave me this job when no one else would hire me, because my N.E.W.T.s weren't the greatest. He told me not to come in today, but I wanted to try and make up for all the trouble my memory is causing him. Plus, he’ll need money to pay your fee."   
  
Hermione felt a tug of sympathy for the young woman. She and Draco seemed to have something in common: championing the underdog. And it seemed Rachel was as devoted to her employer as he was to her safety. Though it seemed he was right about Gryffindor brashness again. She’d tried to help, but it looked like it was going to further complicate the case.  
  
Rachel went on to say, "Tell you what, why don't you sit tight, and I'll dish up some ice cream for you. Least I can do, for the person defending Mr. Malfoy." Hermione politely declined and sat, waiting, as Rachel bustled in and out of the back room, re-stocking the shelves. Hermione noticed that the Gummi Gigglers were conspicuously absent. It made it all the more confusing that Rita and Harry had gotten their hands on some. Further proof of someone setting him up. Right before five, Rachel came back out, subdued, and closed the back door. She hesitated, then said very softly so Hermione had to strain to hear, "I'm feeling rather tired; I think we ought to go to St. Mungo's now."   
  
Hermione nodded, and together the two women made their way back down the street. Rachel seemed disinclined to talk, so Hermione assumed the effects of the  _Imperius_  were beginning to catch up to her companion. When they reached the lobby area, she turned to Hermione. "I almost forgot." She pulled a pack of Hermione's favorite candy from her pocket: Chocolate flavored sugar quills. "Thank you again, for finding me and keeping an eye on me. I'd likely have hurt someone else if you hadn't stopped me."   
  
Hermione watched as she went to the counter, holding the quill in her hand. She started to put the quill in her mouth and then looked then back at Rachel, who was watching her intently. She shook her head, trying to put the quill in her pocket, only to feel a whisper of thought, and suddenly it was in her mouth. Try as she might to remove it, Hermione couldn’t get her hand up to take it out, so finally, realizing she was being  _Imperioed_ , she spat it out, forcing the candy and the thought out of her head. She instinctively went for her wand. Rachel dodged the stunning spell, and quickly sent a stunning spell of her own towards Hermione. Hermione managed to repel the first one, but the second, cast seconds after the first, caught her, and slammed her into the wall behind the seating area.   
  
Hermione looked up to see Rachel fleeing St. Mungo’s, pushing people out of the way. She tried to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her, only to begin giggling. To her horror, she couldn’t stop. She waved away people trying to help her, only for a nurse to come over and see just what in the bloody hell did they think they were doing, there was sick people here, and it was no place to have a duel. Hermione managed to gasp, “Poison. Snape Ward.” before the lack of oxygen made her vision go black.  _I'd likely have hurt someone else if you hadn't stopped me_. Rachel's words echoed, as she sank into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hermione! Wake up!" Ron's insistent voice kept saying her name, until Hermione opened an eye fuzzily. She ached all over, her muscles sore from having spasmed so hard. Ron swam into relief, and his face looked excited and terrified all at once. "Hermione, you've got to get up. We have to talk. Here.” Ron propped her up a bit, and poured some Pepper-Up down Hermione's throat.   
  
Feeling the steam come out her ears, she was able to gather energy to sit, and she croaked, her voice raspy, "How did you manage to stop the poison?" She was awake and talking, and astonishingly enough, not laughing hysterically.  
  
"Penny tested what Harry gave me, and she said it was …" He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, brow furrowing as he pronounced, "Nyetroos Ox eye? And that she'd never seen it in solid form, but that there was an antidote I could give you with a needle. So she gave me some for Rita, and I was just on my way in when you were collapsing in the lobby. Hermione, what happened? Did you eat some of the same thing?" Ron was wound up, thoroughly curious and excited for her part in the whole thing. Luna came in, and seeing the situation, pushed Ron away from the bed while she went about checking Hermione’s vitals.  
  
Nitrous Oxide. Hermione was familiar with it, having two dentists for parents. She hadn't known it could be made liquid without exploding, but with magic involved, she supposed almost anything was possible. It explained the symptoms, and the subsequent deaths. So they had a means to treat it, but they still didn't know who did it. Hermione was more certain than ever that Draco wasn't responsible - reformed he may be, but a fan of muggle medicines he wasn't. This kind of poison took far more thought and connections to get and required a deeper degree of malice and planning.  
  
"Did they treat Rita?" Hermione asked, her brain trying to assimilate all the new information. "And what about Rachel, Draco's shop girl? I brought her in … she was the one who set me up. Somehow did a wordless  _Imperius_ , and I didn’t realize til I had the sweet in my mouth." Hermione struggled to sit up, and Ron stopped her. She was shaking, likely from delayed reaction, and she hurt all over. She protested, "I have to get out of here. I have to find her so we can prove Draco didn't do it."   
  
“Stay.” Normally soft spoken, Luna’s voice had a ring of authority, and Hermione found herself sinking back into the bed. Luna finished her wandwork, hesitated, and then handed over the pain potion she was carrying. Hermione gulped it back, and after a few moments began to feel closer to her normal self. She went to stand, her legs nearly giving out before Luna stopped her.   
  
"Please. I promise I'll come back later to get checked out, but you need to let me go. And keep Harry and Rita here. If this killer finds out they're going to recover, they might try again, and we have no way of knowing who to trust." Hermione rarely pleaded, but the situation warranted it.  
  
Luna nodded, her eyes clouding over into her usual imperturbable expression. "I'll just tell them we need to wait until the tests come back to see if they contracted snarfblat." At Hermione's look, she snorted. "I know  _that's_  not real. But they don't. Go." She stifled Ron’s protests as Hermione exited, murmuring, “She’s finally found something to fight for. He best do the same.” But she wouldn’t explain when Ron asked what the bleeding hell she was talking about.  
  


****

  
  
Hermione went back to Fortescue's first, wanting to be sure it was actually closed. No one else was going to die if she could help it. Unsurprisingly, it was open, though no one was visible inside. She entered quietly, wand at the ready, and looked around for Rachel. Hearing a slight squeak, she spun and ducked as a bolt of something blue shot over her head and left a mark on the wall behind her. She sent a stunning spell in the direction it had come from, and heard a grunt as something toppled off a shelf, making a splattering noise as it hit the ground. Staying low, adrenaline racing through her system, she moved towards the counter, peering through the glass display to see who was behind the rows of candies. She saw a blur of moment, then the door to the back swung open, and she quickly rounded the corner, watching the door flap. There was a puddle of ice cream on the floor, as a container slowly leaked out the peach colored substance. She crept closer, slowly, and felt her heart leap into her throat when she saw a pair of trainers with feet still in them as she came to the door. She checked to make sure no one else was around, and then trained her wand on the unconscious form of....Rachel?  
  
She stood, a bit baffled by what was going on. She looked around, and saw the door to the alley open, and surmised her assailant had already fled. She quickly shut and warded it, then knelt, carefully reviving the unconscious girl. Rachel coughed as she came to, looking around with the same look of confusion that had been on her face when Hermione had removed the  _Imperius_  from her.   
  
"Oh dear. Did I faint?" She looked around, then back to Hermione. "We were going to go to St. Mungo’s. Why am I on the floor?”  
  
Realization struck her. Rachel had been under the  _Imperius_ , and whoever had done it had been there, and took over for her when Hermione had taken her to St. Mungo’s earlier. It explained why the spell had dropped so easily for Hermione – she hadn’t dropped it, the original caster had. The poor girl was being set up and used, much like Draco. She explained gently, "You've been Obliviated again. Does a spot on your scalp seem sore, like someone pulled some hair out?"   
  
Rachel nodded dumbly, touching a spot behind her ear. She started to ask, "How-" but Hermione cut her off.   
  
“There's no time. I have to get you back to St. Mungo's, for your own safety. As it stands, someone is impersonating you so that you and Draco will take the fall. Come on." Helping the girl to her feet, Hermione Apparated them both to St. Mungo's again, where she explained hastily to the nurse who’d been on duty earlier, and who was pointing a wand at them that the previous incident had been an impersonator, and that someone had Polyjuiced themselves to look like Rachel, and to beware any strangers who might try to see Rachel on false pretenses.   
  
She needed to get to her superiors. This was more than just an open-and-shut case. There was a larger conspiracy afoot, ready to lynch Draco and frame Rachel, and she needed help. There needed to be a larger scale investigation, and soon, before someone else ended up dead.  
  


****

  
  
"Ms. Gibbons?" Hermione knocked on the open door and waited in the entrance, surprised not to see her boss at her desk. She was always there when Hermione left, usually at seven pm, and there when Hermione arrived at seven-thirty in the mornings. Hermione looked around for a moment, having never really taken a close look at the woman's office. It was pretty sterile, lacking in personal touches, except for a picture frame on her desk. She'd never seen the picture, and looking around to see if Ms. Gibbons was nearby, she picked it up, taking a look. It was a much younger Ms. Gibbons, with a small smile on her face. It changed the look of her, made her more approachable. She was standing between two gentlemen, one of whom was the most beautiful men she'd ever seen. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place him. The other man, unsmiling, kept letting his gaze stray to the other two, who were looking at the camera and remaining perfectly composed.  
  
"I see you've met the men in my life." The cold voice from behind Hermione almost caused her to drop the picture frame, and quick as a blink, Ms. Gibbons had taken it back from her, placing it carefully on her desktop. "It might surprise you to know I once was married. Happy, even. But the war … it took it all away from us … took  _him_  away from me."   
  
Hermione didn't quite know what to say to the revelation Ms. Gibbons shared with her, so she started to explain about the conspiracy, only for Ms. Gibbons to interrupt, her voice distant, a touch dreamy, as she looked down at the picture, tracing the figures. "We were so young, so idealistic. Such a terrible price to pay for peace." She looked at Hermione, softness gone in the face if her customary rigidity. "Now you know why I am so devoted to my work, to truth, and justice." She sat down and adjusted her spectacles, looking at Hermione. "So what have news do you have on this case? I presume there isn't enough evidence to prove Mr. Malfoy innocent."   
  
"That's just the thing, Ms. Gibbons; there is plenty of proof of his innocence." And Hermione poured it all out, the timing of the latest attacks, his tracking bracelet, the  _Imperioed_  shop girl, the attempt on her own life, the antidote. All the while Ms. Gibbons listened, calmly tapping her quill on the ink blotter. Hermione finished her story with, "I don't know who's behind all this, but we must get a team of Aurors together to search for this person. He or she is clearly a danger to society."   
  
Ms. Gibbons pursed her lips, and then nodded. "Very well, I suppose we must do what needs to be done." She leaned to the side, fishing around in her drawer, and Hermione caught a glimpse of her collar. The crisp white linen was speckled with peach.  
  
She almost didn't dive out of the way in time to miss being hit by Ms. Gibbons’ hissed Killing Curse. Hermione dashed from the room, ducking to avoid a second one, which exploded the contents of the desk she was crawling around. A book hit her in the face, splitting her lip. She made her way through the maze of desks, until she had enough room between her and Ms. Gibbons to be able to avoid her curses. She reached frantically in her robes, trying to find her wand—why, oh why, did she pick today to get sloppy—before she remembered setting it down on the edge of Ms. Gibbons desk. How could she have been so stupid? She was practically defenseless in the face of the other woman’s magic.  
  
The noise was coming towards her from the left. Sweat trickled down the side of her face, mingling with the blood of her split lip. She didn’t notice the burn; every fibre in her was waiting for the approaching person to get closer. She gripped the umbrella she’d tripped over in her flight, ready to fight as best she could. She wouldn’t give up without causing some damage of her own.  
  
“Miss Granger, surely you can see how futile this is. You know that you’ll never get past me, and no one is around to hear you scream. Just come out, and I promise, it will be painless for you.” A chuckle. “I’ll even give you some Gummi Gigglers to ease the way. How’s that sound?”  
  
She looked around, trying to find something, anything, to serve as a weapon. Her eyes fell upon a paperweight in the shape of a snitch. She clutched it in a shaky hand, and then threw it low and hard, like skipping a stone, to her left. A blue spell followed it, rocking the desk it hit on impact. She used the cover of the noise and distraction to move a desk to her right, praying fervently to whoever heard her that Gibbons hadn't caught onto the plot. This desk had room under it for her to curl up, and when she turned sideways to get her feet in, she felt a long, stick-like object. It was a cane, Willoughby's cane, also his spare wandholder. Thanking God that one of Moody’s protégé’s had listened to him, she grabbed the end and silently willed a cloaking spell over the niche, to make her invisible to Gibbons. It seemed to work, but it had burned her hand a little, forcing the magic through a foreign wand. She had no guarantee it would work again. She curled her fingers around the curved top and waited. She heard a faint movement as Gibbons approached, her taunts silenced in her need to find Hermione. She must have figured the decoy for what it was, and was trying to get the drop on her. Hermione hoped she remained rattled, and didn't try any more spells, or else her weapon, sturdy though it might be, would mean nothing in the face of the smaller more powerful piece of wood.  
  
The footsteps, louder now, were coming from the left. Hermione froze, barely breathing, and watched the shadows shift, as Gibbons came around the edge of the desk. Hermione twitched as a foot, clad in sensible oxfords, came into view, robes rustling, as Gibbons slowly crossed Hermione's field of vision. She tried to remember if Gibbons held her wand in her left hand - if she did, disarming her would be easier, less likely to swing across and aim. Plan in mind, she held still, sweat trickling down between her breasts as she watched Gibbons creep level with where she was. Then she swung the cane in a tight circle, hitting the older woman in the ankles as she moved forward, and causing her to fall. Hermione launched herself out then, hands scrabbling to get a hold of the wand closest to her, to at least keep it aimed away from her.  
  
Gibbons had made an aborted sort of yelp as she fell, and now, animal-like grunts were coming from her as the y wrestled. She was stronger than her appearance belied, and Hermione was unable to get the wand free. Gritting her teeth, she gasped out, "Don't do this."  
  
Gibbons hissed, an amused sound. "I'll finish his work if it's the last thing I do." She rolled away from Hermione, and sought to bring the other wand to bear on her. Scrambling, Hermione clamped her hands on Gibbon's wrists, keeping the wands up. Until she saw Gibbons slowly begin to rotate her wand, bringing the tip to point down between them.   
  
Suddenly, the wand flew from her hand across the room, to where an unfamiliar voice shouted a summoning spell several times, and the second wand, and the cane, all flew towards him. Hermione pushed to scramble away from Gibbons, who, seeing several robed Aurors, stood and screeched, "She tried to kill me! She's in it with Malfoy. Arrest her!"   
  
Auror Proudfoot came forward. "Ms. Gibbons, you are under arrest for the murders of Samantha Moon, Rose Zeller, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, the attempted murders of Rita Skeeter, Hermione Granger, and aggravated assault on Rachel Yaxley." Hermione watched, in a bit of a daze, as he and another Auror came forward to restrain Gibbons, who had lost all sense of propriety, and was screaming, spittle flying from her mouth, as they half-carried, half dragged her off.  
  
Hermione stayed there, until the swishing of robes made her look up. Into grey eyes, lined by worry, and at blonde hair, tousled by anxiety. Draco. He helped her up and she stood, swaying, in front of him. His hands came out to steady her. "How ... you ... what ... when ...?" She started, only for Draco to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at her lip.   
  
"You're bleeding." he announced, then ushered her out of the office area. Hermione had a moment to register the fact that she was, in fact, still alive, when the rush of adrenaline that had kept her that way gave out, and her vision faded to black.  
  


****

  
  
"Honestly, Granger, must you resort to such theatrics to keep from admitting I saved you? Come on, wake up. Potter sees me like this I'll be locked in Azkaban before you can say false alarm." Hermione surfaced to the sound of Draco, sarcasm and amusement and a tinge of concern in his voice. And realized he was holding her in his arms. She'd fainted. Bugger.  
  
Her eyes snapped open and she tried to extricate herself, but Draco stayed her with a hand on her shoulder, keeping her off-balance. He was stronger than he looked, and she finally gave up, relaxing a bit unto his hold. They were in the suite used by the head of the MLE. She tried to glare up at him, but the smirk on his face made it hard for her to do anything other than demand an explanation. "What happened? How did they know where to find me? What's going on?"  
  
"I happened." Harry came in, and seeing Hermione in Draco's lap, narrowed his eyes, and cleared his throat pointedly. Draco make a noise of exasperation, but let Hermione go, and she promptly flew at Harry, hugging him and babbling how she was so glad Gibbons hadn’t come after him again, and where was Ron, and what did he mean he happened? Harry let her get it out of her system, before gently pushing her into the chair Draco had vacated, moving to crouch in front of her.  
  
"When Ron told me about you getting attacked, I snuck out and went to talk to Draco under the Invisibility Cloak. He swore up and down that Rachel couldn’t have done it, so I went back to St. Mungo’s. I overheard Luna reassuring someone, and saw it was Rachel. Gave them a fright when I appeared, though Luna thought I was having an out of body experience and was trying to urge me to go back to my body and stay away from the light. When I convinced them I was, in fact, corporeal, I got Rachel to explain what had happened. We retrieved her last memory of the event, and when I looked at it, it struck me as bearing a resemblance to your supervisor, Gibbons. I came back here to tell Draco, and-”  
  
“You’d not said her name before, so I didn’t make the connection.” Draco interrupted, giving Harry a look. “Rosemary Gibbons had been married to the Death Eater who had set off the Dark Mark at Hogwarts, when Snape killed Dumbledore. I don’t know how she'd gone undetected all this time, except I think someone, likely one of the Carrows, retrieved his body so there was no official proof of his involvement that night.” He paused, a disgusted look on his face. “I remember how he’d brag to my father that one of his favorite things to do was to invent new ways to kill people, especially Muggleborns."   
  
"Something she meant to carry on," Hermione murmured, and then looked to Draco, lounging against the wall, arms folded, with a closed look on his face. "So we weren't too far off. She was trying to discredit you as revenge for your failure. And got to kill more muggleborns in the process. But Rita? Assuming she was the target."   
  
"One of Skeeter's best kept secrets is that she's got a muggle grandmother and grandfather on each side.” Both Harry and Hermione looked at him, jaws dropped. “Mother knew, and used it to our advantage once upon a time." Aware he was talking in the presence of an Auror, he stopped, but Hermione could guess what he would have said. That Rita had engineered Narcissa's escape to the continent, and was the intermediary in communicating, since Draco's floo and owls were likely being watched. Hence his ‘correspondence’, and why Rita hadn’t questioned the free sweets. She swallowed. Gibbons had been a lunatic, but an utterly brilliant and thorough one.  
  
"S'right." Harry nodded. "Rita told me the sweet’s spell felt too bloody strong, compared to the first time she had one. It's a good product, when not tampered with." He directed the last remark to Draco, who nodded his acknowledgment of Harry's unspoken thanks. Draco's mouth, however, had flattened, and Hermione could tell he wasn't pleased about something. "So I grabbed two of the Aurors guarding Malfoy and came over, to hear her trying to kill you," Harry continued, drawing Hermione's attention back. "Cripes, Hermione, what made you decide to wrestle with her? She's got at least a stone on you, and she's barking mad." Clearly unhappy with the turn of events, Harry stood, and began pacing a bit, hands shoved in his pockets.  
  
"She had my wand. I didn't know it was her when I went into her office. It was the peach ice cream that gave it away. She’d some on her collar from when she tried to hex me at Fortescue’s," Hermione said. Then it set in, how close she'd come to dying. It was only her instinct that had made her move when she had, else she would not have been sitting there. She began to shake a little. "I don't even like peach ice cream," she added, and then began to giggle, hysteria in the face of the day's events overtaking her. She'd nearly died from poisoning, and then she'd nearly died at the hands of a Death Eater supporter. It had been several years since she'd faced that level of danger, and it was simply too much for her.   
  
She didn't know when her laughter turned to tears, but Harry came forward, obviously to comfort her, rubbing her back and saying, "There there, Hermione. It’s alright. You're safe."  
  
Draco finally snapped, "Good Lord, Potter, if that's how you've comforted all your girlfriends, it’s a wonder you're not single. Come on." He crossed the room, scooping a wilted Hermione into his arms, and then carried her to the Floo. She was clinging to him, more to keep from falling than anything, and he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, calling out the name of her flat. She was cried out by the time they arrived, Draco managing to keep his feet while still carrying her. She wasn't paying much attention to her flat, but she heard someone else come through, protesting Draco's highhandedness and where did he get off telling Harry how to care for his friends? She was laid down on something soft, which she recognized as her bed, and Draco sat beside her, telling her quietly, "Sleep, Granger." When he moved to leave, she latched onto his hand, and he stayed, watching her with a bemused look, until she sank into unconsciousness.  
  


****

  
  
"Blimey, Hermione. You sure you're alright?"   
  
Ron's repeated questions, along with his hovering, made her snap peevishly, "Yes, for the last time, I'm fine. A good night's sleep, a good square meal, and I'm all set. Can we please get back to the game?" It was Saturday morning, and Mrs. Weasley insisted on having Hermione, Harry, and the rest of the known wizarding world out to the burrow for an impromptu party celebrating her case and the fact that she and Harry were alright. The boys had coaxed her into telling the story for the gathered crowd, with embellished interjections by Harry, Ron, and the newly recovered Rachel, whom Percy had taken one look at and gone redder than a tomato. It was rather sweet, actually. She'd finished with the story for the third time when she realized Draco was nowhere to be found.  
  
Tugging Harry away from Ginny, who seemed to think he needed a snogging to end all snogging as his heroes’ reward, Hermione asked, "Where's Draco, Harry? Don't tell me you didn't invite him. He deserves to be here as much as anyone."  
  
Harry, surprised, said, "Wasn't he there when you woke up? Said he'd see you through the night, and when I said we'd be getting together this weekend and did he want to join us, he said he had to do more damage control. Whatever that means."  
  
A bit startled that Harry had left her in Malfoy's care, Hermione considered what had most likely conspired. He'd probably left in the morning, after putting together the breakfast tray she'd found under a warming charm beside her bed, with the note about the gathering at the Burrow rolled up next to it. She'd assumed it was from Harry, but maybe not.  
  
"He's at Fortescue's," she said aloud, which made Harry nod. "Likely clearing out to make sure nothing else was poisoned. Well, I'm going to get him. I didn't go to all that trouble to save his arse only for him to play social outcast again." Marching to the edge of the property, Hermione Apparated to the back door of Fortescue's, where she knocked, repeatedly, before trying an unlocking charm.  
  
And then she yelped, the spell backfiring into the Jelly Legs Jinx. When the door finally opened and Draco poked his poked his head out, an annoyed expression on his face, she was holding herself up by the rubbish bins across the way. Amusement lit his face, and he drawled, "Granger, you don't need to go through my garbage. I've much more appetizing food inside."  
  
"Very funny, Malfoy. Now undo it." She glared at him until, unrepentant, he lifted the jinx and gestured for her to come inside. It was evident he was clearing out his stores, and her heart sank at the sight of all the ice cream and treats he was currently vanishing. With such a scare, he'd be obligated or even required to get rid of his entire stock, with no way of knowing what Gibbons had tainted. It would take a fortune to get his feet back under him, and he no longer had that fortune. She looked at him, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, instead concentrating on dumping a tray of toffees and taffy's into a large rubbish bin, which was nearly full.   
  
"How long until—” she started to ask, but Draco interrupted.   
  
"Until I re-open? Never. You must have missed the sign out front. Closed indefinitely. Good thing one of the Weasley’s took such a shine to Rachel, because she's going to be poorer than him once this all settles." Face set in the familiar sneering mask; he blasted the contents of the bin, before turning to the freezer and blasting the containers of ice cream, except the peach one. She touched his arm gently, and he turned to her, snarling. "What, going to offer me some sympathy? Rather have cold hard Galleons. But maybe it's better this way. Cut my ties; get the bloody hell out of Britain." Surprised he'd even think of leaving Britain, she opened her mouth to object, and he overrode her. "No, I can't get a loan. I already owe Gringotts too much for the start up of this place. And no, there's nothing left in the family vault. Mother took it with her, so they couldn't hold it over my head or try and use it against me. Said I'd do as I like without being blackmailed for my own sodding inheritance."  
  
"And she can't send you any?" Hermione asked.  
  
Draco laughed. "You must be joking. And you, the smartest of our class. If I could suddenly afford to keep this place up, the Ministry will want to know how. As long as they don't know I'm in touch with Mother, the less likely they are to try and hunt her down." Realizing how much he admitted, he scowled. "Best keep that to yourself, or I won't mind casting an  _Obliviate_  of my own before I go to join her."  
  
Irritated, but not afraid, Hermione snapped, "If I was going to turn you in, I'd have done so when they had you locked up. You've still got lawyer-client privilege with me, Draco." Willing her temper to calm, she added, "I don't see why you need to leave England. You just need a partner to finance you."   
  
"And just where would I find one of those? Got a hidden fortune you've not been telling anyone about, Granger?" He jeered, his sneering face not able to hide his uncertainty. Feeling surer of herself, she took him by the arm.   
  
"No, but I have a best friend who does," she said confidently, wrapping her arms around him and side-along apparating him to the Burrow before he could object. Not that he seemed likely to; his own arms wrapped around her when she hugged him. He looked down at her, as surprised as she was that she didn't immediately back away. It felt…right. Secure.  
  
They let go of each other at a shouted, "OI!" from both Ron and Harry, who looked torn between shock and outrage. Ginny and Luna were doing their level best to try and keep them from overreacting, and it seemed to be working. Hermione grabbed Draco by the hand, pulling him to Harry.  
  
"So here's the deal," she announced with no preamble. "Draco's going to lose his business if he doesn't get a financier, and you, Harry Potter, have loads of money you never spend. Since I technically saved your life, I'm calling in my life debt for you to become his silent partner."  
  
"That's not how life debts wo-" Ron began, only to yelp when Luna stepped hard on his foot.   
  
She smiled sweetly at Harry, who gave her a suspicious look, then sighed. Hermione waited until Harry begrudgingly held out a hand, and he and Draco shook. The rest of the crowd who'd gathered to listen broke out in cheers, and Draco looked around, astonished to hear the support for him. Hermione beamed up at him, and when he turned his small but genuine smile to her, they remembered that they were still holding hands.   
  
Awkwardly, they both let go at about the same time, looking anywhere but at the other, but when Hermione met Ron's eyes, he gave her a little nod, smiling at her. She cleared her throat and turned to Draco. "It seems now you'll not be leaving any time soon, so I wanted to take the opportunity to… That is to say, I've some personal time coming, or at least I did before this case fell in my lap, not that I'm sorry it did, but in any case, I was wondering if you might-" Whatever she had been about to ask him, Hermione would never know, because as soon as she started stammering, a grin split Draco's face, and he yanked her to him in a kiss. It seemed he did, in fact, might. She felt a bit of a giggle coming on, but the tingle of pleasure at his mouth on hers made her moan instead. Who needed candy when they could have a candyman? 


End file.
